


Come On and Turn Me On

by aeon_entwined



Category: Actor RPF, Thor (2011) RPF
Genre: Clothed Sex, Frottage, M/M, Rough Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-11
Updated: 2011-12-11
Packaged: 2017-10-27 05:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/aeon_entwined
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>His overwhelming physical presence is what draws Tom to him like a damned moth to a flame.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Come On and Turn Me On

**Author's Note:**

> Written by request and accompanied by **[THIS](http://heartbrokengirlsketches.tumblr.com/post/14062434098/come-on-and-turn-me-on-hiddlesworth)** fantastic piece of artwork. ♥

He’s gotten to the point of being able to read Chris’ movements almost without effort. Subtle muscle twitches that’ll tell him when and where the rather impressively sized Australian is intending to go or who he’s planning on hitting.

And yeah, it’s no secret that he admires Chris’ physique (doesn’t everybody?). Not many people are built like a fucking redwood and have a damn heart of gold to go along with it.

Tom slides his eyes sideways, watching Chris’ profile as they amble into his current hotel room for the press junket. There’s tension in the line of his compatriot’s back, enough that it translates into something with enough of a physical presence to be humming in the air. These are the moments he lives for. Call him an adrenaline junkie or whatever the hell you like, but that’s just the bare bones of it. Living for the thrill of it is what makes it all the more exhilarating.

He pauses and lays a hand on the small end table in the hall in front of the tiny little bathroom that serves as his coat rack and storage space for anything that ends up in his pockets after the junkets. His legs tense, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck rising almost as though reacting to what is undoubtedly a predator honing in on him.

In the time it takes to shrug his leather jacket onto the tabletop and turn around, Chris is already barreling into him, shoving his entire six-foot plus frame up against the wall like he weighs about as much as a few matchsticks.

The sheer physicality of it, the way Chris is able to throw him around with no effort at all, inspires a flare of heat in his gut that quickly spreads outward. Tom immediately wraps both long legs around Chris’ waist, ankles locking over the small of the Australian’s back to brace his own weight.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he grunts harshly as the back of his head smacks against the wall, causing little starbursts to dapple his vision for a moment as Chris pulls back and nearly rips the dark v-neck that he’d been wearing through his interviews in his hurry to tear it off.

Inspired, Tom releases his hold on Chris’ powerful shoulders just long enough to yank his own light grey tee over his head. Once the thing gets tossed in the general direction of the full-sized bed in the main room, Tom slides both his arms under Chris’, palms flat against the muscled shoulder blades now bared for his exploration.

The exhilarating press of skin against skin is enough to have him already drunk on the encounter, and Tom laughs wildly, his guard completely down and freeing him from everything except _this_.

He drags his fingertips down Chris’ back, earning a feral snarl in response to the undoubtedly reddened lines scored over his friend’s skin. Tom replies in kind by sinking his teeth into the meat of Chris’ shoulder, growling throatily as his friend continues slamming him bodily against the wall.

They’re both going to be bruised to hell tomorrow, but at least it’s only a plane flight to the next city. They’ll survive.

They always do.

The hot drag of his own denim-clad arousal against the prominent bulge tenting Chris’ pants is enough to have him moaning in approval loud enough for the folks on the next floor to hear. Hell, maybe the floor below too.

Tom does his best to gyrate his hips down, shoving his own body weight against Chris’. It’s pretty much futile, but it gains him a small bit of much-needed friction. Otherwise, this show belongs to Chris. He’s the one in charge and he’s the one who will dictate when it’s over.

He bites more claims into the skin of his friend’s throat, shoulder, and chest, anywhere he can possibly reach without being dislodged. Chris returns the favor when he can, but right now, he’s more focused on getting his fingers tangled in Tom’s impossible blond curls.

Once he feels the long fingers tightening, Tom has a mere second before Chris _pulls_ and he’s forced to bow his head back and bare his throat, offering up the sensitive skin for a brutal assault in the form of Hemsworth’s teeth.

He yelps loudly, one hand immediately fisting in Chris’ shoulder-length hair as the other splays between his friend’s shoulder blades, blunt fingernails digging into the skin.

It’s impossibly hot in the room, even though he knows that’s just due to his brain suffering from over stimulus. Or something like that. Christ, he can’t even think straight.

Teeth sinking deep into the sensitive flesh just over his pulse point effectively derail any hope of a coherent train of thought and Tom gives himself over to the maelstrom.

He doesn’t have any hope of gaining any sort of upper hand and he’s plenty aware of it. It was fun to try for it in the beginning, but one of his favorite parts of this is he _knows_ Chris is too strong. Too strong and too powerful in every sense of the word. His overwhelming physical presence is what draws Tom to him like a damned moth to a flame.

Tom’s fingers fist desperately in the hair at Chris’ nape and he arches up, spine bowing as his orgasm crests and smashes headlong into him. A low groan reverberates through his chest and he can only clutch at his friend’s shoulders as he rides out the frantic thrusting and twisting Chris is resorting to in order to find his own release.

Chris orgasms a few moments later, but he manages to crush their lips together in an almost painfully possessive kiss, stealing Tom’s breath in one go as he shoves him against the wall again, their bodies pressed fully together.

When they finally manage to gather their wits enough to pull away, Tom keeps his legs wrapped tight around Chris’ waist, only allow him to separate so they can breathe properly again.

Then, he leans forward to rest his brow against Chris’, smiling almost proudly. It’s not very often he can reduce the towering wall of muscle and unrestrained physical strength to a quietly shivering mess. He treasures the moments more than he cares to explain.

“Shower,” he murmurs, a slow grin quirking his lips as he rubs both hands over Chris’ back.

There’s a low rumbling laugh that starts somewhere in the vicinity of Chris’ chest, and Tom makes a quietly startled sound as he’s effectively hoisted into his friend’s arms and carried across the hall to the bathroom. “As you wish, my liege.”

That earns Chris a gentle smack over the back of the head, but they’re both laughing now. Tom wouldn’t change whatever this is for the world. Not in a million years


End file.
